This woman sitting in front of me, holding a joint interview/orientation, looks like an Indian a Native American. At least, she looks like what I’ve come to understand an Indian’s a Native American’s supposed to look like. The young woman next to me isn’t a return employee of the ballpark. Like me, she is new. Like me, she’s learning the rules first hand from the Indian-looking Native-American-looking woman. Unlike me, however, she won’t last at this job long. I don’t even remember her name. Don’t even remember if I bothered to ask. Curriculum Vitae I’ve spent my whole life in waiting. My life is waiting. I am perpetually waiting. The docile boy/guy/man with hands clasp in the cold comfort room with other uncertain people. We look at…